Volume 6: The Meeting of Two Heroes, Chapter 45: The Magonid Family

For the Magonid family, it was a humiliating slap in the face. If this had been during the family’s days of power and influence, who would have dared to shout outside their residence! This bunch of opportunistic Carthaginians! It was precisely their behavior that had led to the family’s current predicament! Hasdrubal could no longer contain his fury. He spun around and roared at the slaves outside the hall: “All of you, grab your clubs and get out there! Drive those rabble-rousers away!”

“Hasdrubal!” Mago’s low growl silenced his hot-headed nephew, who closed his mouth with obvious reluctance.

Mago swept his gaze over the few remaining direct relatives behind him and sighed inwardly. In the past, the family had seemed glorious, but years of warring with Syracuse for Carthage’s sake had cost many kin their lives on the battlefield. Their cousin Hannibal, after avenging the ancestral defeat at Himera, had caught a chill and died of illness upon returning to the city. Another brother had perished in the plague that struck during Himilco’s flight. And his own son had been struck down by a stray arrow in the war against Syracuse that had just concluded…

Yet for all the Magonid family had sacrificed, all they had received in return was merciless, concerted oppression from their political rivals in Carthage. In the Senate elections a few days ago, the newly elected senators from the Magonid faction had been greatly reduced in number. Moreover, Mago, as the new head of the Magonid family, had for the first time failed to become a Suffete (i.e., a high magistrate, elected annually, two at a time). This was the first time in a century that the head of the Magonid family had not held the office. Their main rivals, the Hanno family—the other great noble house, second only to them in power—had emerged as the big winners of the election. They now firmly controlled the Senate, with their head, Hanno, serving as Suffete, while the other Suffete was also his close friend.

The family was about to face even greater difficulties. He had to prepare early! Mago clenched his fists, reinforcing the decision he had made earlier.

“Hasdrubal.” Mago spoke solemnly to his nephew. “You are a grown man of twenty-five. If you continue to act so recklessly, how can I ever entrust you with the heavy responsibility of reviving the family and restoring its glory in the future?”

“Uncle, I—” Hasdrubal tried to argue, but Mago cut him off bluntly. “Go to Iberia. At least there, no one will be watching your every move, waiting to exploit your political naivety and bring disaster upon the family.”

“You want me to go to Iberia?!” Hasdrubal’s mouth fell open. He had not expected to be exiled like this.

“You are not the only one leaving Carthage. I am leaving too.” Mago was about to explain when his ten-year-old daughter Dido asked anxiously, “Father, where are you going?”

Mago lowered his head slightly and said warmly to his only daughter—who bore the same name as Carthage’s founding queen— “I am only going to Sicily. It is not far from Carthage. I can return at any time.”

“Father, are you going to become the garrison commander in Sicily, to defend against the Greeks?” Dido pressed on immediately.

Mago looked at his daughter, who was already quite beautiful despite her youth, and could not help but marvel at her intelligence. What a pity she was a woman!

He glanced at the dissatisfied Hasdrubal and sighed again, continuing his explanation: “Although we have signed a treaty with Syracuse, the Senate still harbors suspicion toward Dionysius. This assignment of mine to Sicily, though partly due to Hanno’s self-interest, is also what I had hoped for. The peace between Carthage and Syracuse will not last long. Sooner or later, they will go to war again. What our Magonid family has lost in war, we will reclaim in war!” Mago’s expression was resolute. “Once I am in Sicily, I will recruit soldiers, train them rigorously, and gradually build effective defensive fortresses east of Lilybaeum and Eryx. I will slowly push the buffer zone with the Greeks further eastward, awaiting the right moment…”

He paused, then clapped Hasdrubal firmly on his broad shoulder. “Do you think I am sending you to Iberia as a form of exile? No! It is because I need your help!”

“Need my help?” Hasdrubal felt a flicker of excitement amidst his confusion.

“War consumes men and wealth. Once we go to war with Syracuse, with Hanno in power here in Carthage, he will likely try to hold me back. I may not get full support from Carthage. So we must rely more on ourselves—just as our ancestor Hannibal did decades ago, when he used the family’s money to raise a great army to aid Himera. Southern Iberia has far larger fertile lands than Carthage or Sicily. It has rich silver mines, iron mines, and other mineral deposits, and a large native population. Since the fall of the kingdom of Tartessus, no powerful force has emerged there. It should have been a perfect opportunity bestowed by the god Melqart upon the Carthaginians. But our people and senators have grown too comfortable. They would rather do business and farm in Carthage and Numidia than risk venturing into unknown lands thousands of miles away.

Since no one in Carthage is willing to do it, let the Magonid family take the lead! Hasdrubal, the family has decided to spare no expense in providing you with ample manpower and funds. I hope you can establish a foothold in Iberia, secure a stable territory for the family, and become my strongest backup when war with Syracuse comes!”

“Do not worry, Uncle. I will not let you down!” Now free of his resentment, Hasdrubal rubbed his hands together in excitement.

Mago looked at him, still feeling a hint of unease. He knew his nephew well. Leading troops into battle was his strength, but conquering a strange land required more than just warfare. It called for administrative, diplomatic, and other skills—areas where Hasdrubal was lacking. Among the Magonid direct relatives, however, he was the only one capable of shouldering the task. Mago could only hope that the competent assistants he would send along could compensate for his shortcomings.

“Uncle, I want to go to Iberia with my brother!” A slightly youthful voice rang out in the hall.

“Haka, you cannot go!” Hasdrubal turned to a thin, pale-faced young man and said bluntly.

“Since developing Iberia has become the most important matter determining the rise and fall of our Magonid family, how can I, as a member of this family, stay in the city enjoying myself while watching you and Uncle endure hardships outside? Besides—” The young man looked solemnly at the bronze bust of Himilco placed at the front of the hall and the blood offerings laid before it. “Avenge my father—that is my wish!”

Hasdrubal’s words caught in his throat. After a long pause, he said, “But your health…”

“I have been exercising recently and I am much better now. In Iberia, I will continue to train myself. Besides, leading troops into battle is your business, brother. I just need to stay in the camp…” Haka’s words were addressed both to Hasdrubal and to Mago.

“Haka, are you certain you want to go?” Mago finally spoke.

“Yes, Uncle. I have made up my mind.”

Despite the softness of Haka’s tone, Mago knew that once his young nephew set his mind on something, it was difficult to dissuade him. Yet from a young age, Haka had been intelligent, displaying a maturity and steadiness beyond his years. Himilco had once considered him a genius who would bring even greater glory to the Magonid family in the future. The only problem was his chronic frailty. If he went to Iberia to assist Hasdrubal, he would surely help secure greater gains there—of that, Mago had no doubt.

“Since you have made up your mind, I agree to let you go. But you must understand: if you cannot ensure your own health, you will hardly be able to help Hasdrubal, or our Magonid family, for long!” Mago said gravely.

“I understand.” Haka nodded emphatically.

“Uncle, but—” Hasdrubal, still uneasy, tried to speak again. Mago cut him off loudly: “Enough! Let us offer one last sacrifice together to your father. May he bless our family’s endeavors and see everything go smoothly! …”

…

July. It was the height of the blazing summer, and Daonia’s rugby and football matches were in full swing.

Davos had just returned from a Senate meeting when he received an urgent letter from Laüs.

“Go to the Daonian Academy at once and bring Henipolis back to me!” he said with a grave expression to his personal slave after reading the letter.

“Yes, master.”

“Master, what’s the rush to call me back? I almost got scolded by that old Greek again.” Henipolis’s voice carried into Davos’s study even before he entered. “Ever since that Athenian old man came to the School of Literature, we’ve been busier than before. We have to recite poems and essays every day, and write an article every two or three days. If it doesn’t meet the standard, we have to rewrite it. Master, maybe you could talk to Antistanos? I don’t want to become a rhetorician—I’d rather continue studying history with him…”

“Henipolis, you no longer have time to study history.” Davos handed him a letter, his expression serious.

Henipolis suddenly felt a bad omen. He quickly took the letter and opened it. The words struck him like a thunderbolt, and he stood frozen. “…This… this can’t be true… At the beginning of the year, Father came to visit me in Thurii… He was in good health! Really good!…” As he spoke, tears streamed down his face.

Davos sighed. Avinogis had collapsed during a banquet and remained unconscious. Based on his experience from a previous life, this was likely a cerebral hemorrhage. He had advised him long ago to stop overindulging in food and drink. Ah!

Henipolis suddenly remembered something. He rushed forward and grabbed Davos’s hands tightly, pleading urgently: “Master! Master! You are the God-Touched One of Hades! The teacher of all the doctors in Daonia! Save my father! Save him!!”